Chapter 1

Billie

I was one hundred feet off the ground. I heaved myself up onto the topmost branch of the huge cottonwood tree. I clenched my teeth as my head spun, conscious of the distance beneath me.

Compared to the eighteen-hundred-foot drop at Gunnison Point, this is nothing.

My adoptive brother, Colt, and I had climbed part way down the canyon wall a couple of years ago. If I'd done the Point, I reminded myself, I could do this.

Sweat slicked my forehead, slipping down my spine as I finally emerged on the tree top. I took a huge inhale of breath, feeling as if it were cleansing me from the inside out. I used my too-big sweatshirt sleeve to mop my brow. The top was a hand-me-down from my adoptive sister, Catrina, like most of my clothes. She was five inches taller and had a much more athletic build, so most of my clothes swamped me.

With the thick, solid bough supporting me, my knees went wobbly, and I allowed myself to sink down, resting my aching muscles from the climb. I sucked in a breath as I looked down at my torn-up legs, scraped from the branches on the way up.

Great day to wear shorts, Billie.

But a sense of accomplishment caught me up despite my scrapes. I leaned back against the thick trunk, feeling as if I were in the presence of a friend. This cottonwood was one of my favorite spots in the whole of Gunnison National Park. She was a female tree. I knew because of her green flowers. The male trees produced red catkins. Although the flowers had all vanished by this time of year, with the approach of spring, the tree was producing white cottony tufts, its "cotton" helping it to disperse its seeds in the breeze.

The musical trill of a bird reached my ear, and my gaze darted to one of the lower branches, finding a gorgeous bluebird. It held an insect in its beak. It was unusual to see a mountain bluebird this far down from the canyon. The shelves and chasms of rock that soared in buttresses along the Gunnison River were its favored hunting grounds. The bright bird took off, the sunshine swallowing it. It likely had hungry mouths waiting to be fed back in its nest.

Remembering why I'd climbed up to my spot, I anchored myself against the tree, then picked up the binoculars dangling around my neck. Adjusting them, I focused on the line of pine and spruce on the outskirts of the meadow. I craned my neck to see past the triangular leaves of the tree.

I held my breath. A flicker of movement caught my attention from behind one of the trunks. I traced the black shape of the creature, disappearing into the forest's gloom so quickly anyone else would have thought it was a trick of the light. But I knew the black wolf was one of my adoptive siblings, Colt or Catrina.

Sure enough, as I fixed the lenses on the area, I spied motion in the grass again. Two black wolves crouched low, cleverly using the shadows of the thick, sweeping evergreens to conceal them.

I moved my binoculars leftward over the meadow, looking for what they were hunting. The flick of a tail drew my eye to a grazing elk; a female—a cow—judging by her light build. She nibbled the grasses with no sign that she sensed the predators tracking her. The bright yellow blooms of balsamroot and purple hues of larkspur dappled the grass, giving the semblance of an idyllic calm.

My pulse quickened as I zeroed back in on the two wolves. I clenched my jaw, making my teeth ache, but the sensation felt distant as I was riveted by the black shapes. They looked so alike they could've been twins. I knew when they stood side by side in wolf form, Colt was ever so slightly wider and taller, but only by a foot. From a distance, the difference was lost. But to me, the difference between them was obvious in their movement. Catrina's muscles strained with more vigor, while Colt's held strength without being aggressive.

Frustration stirred as I watched their skilled stalking. With my shifter heritage, my vision was better than that of a human's and made picking the wolves' movements out easy, but I couldn't join them. I hadn't managed to channel my wolf yet. My shoulders sagged. It wasn't unheard of at eighteen for the shifters in the Dalesbloom Pack not to have come into their wolf form yet. But Colt had channeled his two years ago when he was seventeen. Catrina had come into her power even younger. She'd gained them four years ago when she'd turned sixteen.

You'll never be like them.

My gaze caught sight of another wolf as he prowled farther back, on the right flank, nearer to the trees. Inadequacy ate at me as I identified Gavin, the Grandbay Alpha, treading between the trees. His dark brown fur gleamed in a shaft of sunshine. If my adoptive brother and sister made me feel inadequate, then Gavin made me feel utterly useless. After all, Gavin had become the Grandbay Alpha four years ago, at only seventeen. He'd inherited the Grandbay Alphahood at an even younger age than I was now.

You'll never be enough.

The hazel and chestnut hues of his coat were lustrous in the sunshine, and every step he took was measured and poised. I tried to imagine the sense of surety he must be feeling, but the pounding of my heart only quickened as I watched them all close in on the elk. How I wished I could be down there with them. I tried to imagine what it must be like to be tracking the cow, with each one of my muscles coiled and ready to spring. I clenched my jaw together, feeling as if it might break.

Just then, Gavin's wolf broke cover, his powerful body zooming off into the trees. My heart leaped into my throat. I gripped the binocs harder. Gavin's movement seemed at odds with the others' measured approach toward the elk. But then, I saw that the cow had taken fright and darted toward the cover of the forest, too. The screen of evergreen trees engulfed my adoptive siblings as they raced after the elk. With their disappearance, my shoulders drooped. I let the binocs fall from my eyes until they dangled uselessly around my neck. A lock of light brown hair tickled my face, and I stuffed it behind my ear, hating this feeling eating away at me. Catrina, Colt, and Gavin were off with a handful of other wolves in the Dalesbloom Pack, and here I was.

My only friend—a tree.

I fought against the pinprick of tears threatening, dabbing at them with my oversized sleeve. This was nothing new. I tried to settle my thoughts, but that horrible sense that I'd never be enough came over me. Would I always be shut out of the Dalesbloom Pack's hunts? What if I never managed to channel my wolf? According to werewolf stories, Vana, our goddess, revealed our wolves to us during a Moondream when the time was right. But why had she shown my adoptive siblings their wolves so much earlier than she had mine? I fisted my hands, wondering if it was my destiny to always be forgotten.

Fighting against the ache tightening in my chest, I picked up the binocs, angling them at the trees with the hope of seeing the pack again. I held my breath, straining my ears for any sound of the pack. Sometimes, when they caught something, their hostile barks and yips resounded over the meadow. Yet nothing but the movement and sound of the breeze and birds disturbed the afternoon.

But … another noise caught me up. The drone of a car engine whirred through the air. My heart pounded. It was coming from the other direction. It was coming from Hexen Manor.

Shit.

I scarpered down the tree trunk, not caring that I added more cuts and scrapes to my legs as I descended. I needed to get back to the manor.

Now.

The sound of the engine was the signal that my adoptive father, David, was back. And as he often did, he'd told me not to leave the house. Once my feet were on terra firma, I threw my body into a sprint, my arms pumping the air and my lungs soon on fire as I dragged in ragged breaths.

It's worth it though … If I can make it back and sneak in the back, then…

The sound of the engine cut out as I skidded to a halt in front of the impressive structure of Hexen Manor. I sprayed up a cloud of dust from the dirt track just as David got out of his black truck. He wasn't a particularly tall man, about five foot ten, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in his cold, blue eyes that took in everything in an instant. His graying hair gave him a distinguished look. Otherwise, his clean-shaven face looked much as it always had over the years.

My heart raced as I faced my adoptive father's disapproving glare. I knew I'd disobeyed, but the temptation to watch the Dalesbloom wolves in action had been too much. My stomach lurched as I forced myself to walk toward him. My arms hung like dead weight, and I felt how flushed and clammy I was. David's strict demeanor as my provider seemed to loom over me as surely as the shadow of Hexen Manor behind him.

"So, you've been shirking your chores again, eh, Billie?" he said.

Guilt and defiance warred within me. I chastised myself for getting caught out of the house, not for taking a much-needed break from the mountain of chores that always fell on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, David," I said, hanging my head in what I hoped passed for remorse. There was no point in trying to justify why I'd been outside. I knew from living eighteen years under his roof that, when it came to me, David expected me to take his word as gospel. There was no excuse, especially not anything to do with how I felt, that could excuse my disobedience.

"I'll go tidy the kitchen," I offered.

He grunted as I traipsed around the side of the handsome manor house, knowing that I wouldn't have any downtime for the rest of the day. David would be sure to heap more chores on my list, seeing that I clearly had time for trips out.

David's usual rebukes played around my head, "This is the thanks I get for taking you in, is it? You're work-shy, Billie. Do you know how lucky you are that I took you in?"

Resentment simmered through me. I appreciated David adopting me.

By Vana, who knows where I'd be otherwise?

I'd heard enough about the care system to count my lucky stars that I'd grown up in my adoptive family, but I couldn't help feeling hard done by. I was the one who did all the cooking and cleaning without any sign of gratitude or affection from my adoptive father. I thought of the mountain bluebird carrying off food for its young, and my chest ached as I wondered what it would feel like to be cared for.

I sidled past the few mounds of discarded clothes. The pack tended to shift out back and leave their clothes there for their return. I knew the females of the pack shifted and left their clothes by the taxidermy shed to give themselves a little privacy from the guys. Even the sight of the wrinkled jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers made me feel lacking. What would it be like to have that freedom? To truly meet the wilderness with nothing but fur as Vana had meant all of us shifters to be?

I let myself in the back door. The kitchen had two rooms, one large area with sinks, and a huge wooden table in the part nearest the back door. I wandered into the other room, which housed the main kitchen. It was fitted with wooden counters and an island, and there was plenty of space to prep and cook for the family and whichever pack members were about.

The pack had left their breakfast stuff on the massive table that took up most of the room. I really had meant to clear this stuff earlier, but when I'd seen the others going hunting, I had to watch.

As I filled the sink with hot water and dish soap, I gawked at the sight out the window. Four wolves dragged the female elk toward the house. Judging by the elk's size, it was a substantial kill and weighed a hundred pounds or so.

"By Vana, that's a decent one!" David exclaimed from outside as he greeted the returning pack.

I gripped the bowl in the warm water and bubbles as my hands began to tremble.

Sweet mother Vana, if you bring me my wolf, maybe David will welcome me like that.